


Good Cop/Bad Cop

by JustRamblinOn



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Cop!Reader, F/M, PTSD, Rick/Shane/Reader childhood friends, Smut, character injury, no really I wrote actual smut I have been informed, tagging is hard, then again it could be pre series you decide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21757555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustRamblinOn/pseuds/JustRamblinOn
Summary: Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh were your best friends, a trio of troublemakers who somehow always managed to get out of any serious consequences- probably because Rick's dad was the sheriff. You always planned to move to Atlanta, go to college, and join Atlanta PD with your boys at your side, spending your days playing good cop/bad cop and your nights in Shane's arms.Thing was, life had other plans. Guess it was a good thing you were always the bad cop.
Relationships: Shane Walsh/Original Female Character(s), Shane Walsh/Reader, Shane Walsh/You
Comments: 19
Kudos: 61





	Good Cop/Bad Cop

**Author's Note:**

> My muse is a fickle bitch, but I think this story is worth it. Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> (More Last Choice coming soon, promise!) 
> 
> \- JustRamblinOn

King County High School, Senior Year:

“So what are we lookin’ at here, sweetheart? A little good cop/bad cop action?” 

You mock gagged as Shane winked at you outrageously. “If that’s the case, I’m the bad cop and Rick’s the good one.” 

“So what does that make me?” Shane demanded, looking affronted. “I’m obviously the bad cop!” 

Rick cracked up from your other side and you flashed him a grin. They leaned on the hood of Rick’s battered hand-me-down Honda in matching poses, propped on one elbow and legs crossed at the ankles. You sat between them, legs stretched along the sun-baked hood, shorts leaving them tan and bare down to your flip flops. You tipped your face back toward the sun and closed your eyes behind your shades. 

“Pretty sure that makes you the suspect- which is fairly spot on since you started this whole thing with some pretty suspect behavior,” you told Shane dryly. 

“She got you there, brother,” Rick drawled, and Shane just laughed. 

“You two love me and you know it.” 

“Love’s a strong word,” you disagreed. “More like tolerate.”

“Bitch,” Shane said cheerfully. 

“Asshole.”

“Children,” Rick muttered. 

You and Shane grinned at each other and you slid off the hood of the car to wander to the edge of the ravine and stand hands on your hips, facing them instead of the view. Shit, they were better to look at anyway. 

Rick’s pale blue eyes held caution as he sized up how close you were to the edge, his skinny frame hiding the fact that he was strong as an ox and probably could have hauled you back up with one arm if you started to fall. Shane, on the other hand, watched you with predatory eyes and that devil smirk, curls that practically begged for you to have your hands in them shifting in the light breeze. He was built and he was hot and he knew it, and you bit at your lip and pulled the band from your hair so it tumbled all around your shoulders despite the mid-summer Georgia heat. You smirked a little yourself when you saw Shane’s hand tighten into a fist until he deliberately relaxed it. 

You stretched your arms up and he followed the movement of your tank as it crept up your rib cage. “So how long we stayin’ out tonight, boys?” you asked, wandering back toward them.

“Eh. Till the beer runs out,” Shane said with a shrug, and you heard the slight roughness to his voice and knew you’d gotten to him the same as he always got to you.

You snorted, flipped open the small cooler Shane had deposited on the ground with a thump, and pulled out a can. You cracked the top and took a swig before passing it to Shane. You held his eyes as he took a drink, putting a heavy suggestion into your next words. “Guess we should get started then.” 

“Damn straight, darlin’,” he answered, the gleam in his eyes saying he understood you just fucking fine.

“Rick, you drinking? And where the hell’s Lori? Thought she was coming too,” you said over your shoulder, bending to grab another beer for yourself since Shane wasn’t likely to give that one back. Your heart had started racing and you tried for casual, but this was it. You were putting your cards on the table tonight, see what happened. From the way Shane was watching you, it was a pretty safe bet.

Rick grimaced. “She was. Picked a fight this morning. She doesn’t like hanging out with you two idiots much.” 

“Oh no, I’m so offended,” you deadpanned, settling in against the hood between them. “Your girlfriend has a stick up her ass.” 

“Sometimes,” Rick agreed. He paused and glanced at you. “She’s hot though.”

You and Shane both cracked up, and Shane leaned around you to slap Rick on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, brother,” he teased. “Can’t see why she wouldn’t like hangin out with us.”

“Probably the way we drink and do stupid shit that gets Rick in trouble with Sheriff Grimes,” you informed Shane. “Tonight we’re going skinny dipping.” 

Shane choked on his beer and Rick just sighed. You flashed Shane a sly grin and lifted an eyebrow, and his cheeks flamed red as he took another sip. 

“Where?” Rick asked. He knew better than to argue when you made up your mind; it just pushed you to be more ridiculous, and he always ended up doing it anyway. 

You shrugged. “I dunno. Shane picks.” 

“Why me?” Shane demanded. “Why not Rick?” 

You gestured vaguely with your beer. “We all have roles. I’m the instigator and the pretty one; Rick gets us out of trouble and provides the voice of reason; you supply the booze and turn my bad ideas into… well usually even worse ideas, but they’re always fun.” 

Shane laughed again and you watched the way it made his eyes light up, the way his smile looked in the sunlight. You chugged what was left of your beer, crushed the can, and lobbed it out into the ravine before snatching up the cooler and heading around to swing into the passenger seat of the car. 

“Come on, boys. Rick’s driving, since he hasn’t had anything yet. Shane, where are we going?” 

Shane and Rick glanced at each other and Rick shrugged. Shane thought for a minute, then whispered in Rick’s ear as you watched curiously. Rick’s eyebrows shot up and he looked at Shane with clear surprise. 

“You sure, man?”

Shane stared at you for a long moment, until you made a face and flipped him off. What the hell was he looking at so hard? He turned back to Rick and nodded. 

“Oh yeah, I’m sure. Hope your dad’s on speed dial, brother.” 

You let out a whoop when Rick groaned. It was gonna be a good night. 

Georgia Tech, Sophomore Year:

You let out a huff as you caught yourself against the wall, spinning immediately and pressing your back to the rough brickwork. You eyed the man who’d pushed you warily, waiting for his next move.

He came at you with a burst of motion that seemed to start from nowhere, crowding into you and leaning one hand on the wall beside your face. You tipped your chin up to look him in the eyes, a smile playing lightly over your lips. 

“This doesn’t seem like proper search technique, you know,” you informed him dryly as he ran a finger down your throat, over your collarbone, and skimmed his palm lightly down your body. You arched into his touch, craving his hands on your skin like you had been since you were barely old enough to know what lust was. 

Shane gave that low chuckle that sent heat pooling into your core, and you licked your lips as he cruised his fingers slowly over the bare skin just above your low-slung jeans. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m bad cop, then.” 

Your dismissive snort turned into a gasp when he popped the button and yanked the zipper down. You grabbed for his hand, not knowing if you were planning on stopping him or helping him along, what with this being one of the absolute worst places you could imagine for this. On the other hand, you were never not down for this with Shane. Either way, it didn’t matter, since he’d slid his hand down your jeans in a flash, and he groaned into your ear when he rubbed a finger against you lightly and found you wet and ready. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he mumbled. 

You bit your lip, eyes shut and trying not to whimper like a needy bitch as his fingers explored, barely touching and certainly not giving you what you wanted. Your hips jerked, chasing more contact, and the asshole laughed at you. 

“Can’t be loud, baby,” he warned. “Ain’t exactly a good place for this.” 

“You started it,” you gasped out, trying to glare and most definitely not succeeding as your breath caught on a whimper instead.

He grinned. “Fair enough. I can finish it too.” 

You leaned your forehead to his shoulder, shuddering as he rubbed his thumb lightly over your clit. “Better fucking finish me, you bastard.” 

He chuckled, glanced over his shoulder at the currently empty pathway between buildings at Georgia Tech, and shifted closer to you. He kept his body between you and the world, blocking you from view if anyone did happen by, and your heart went as weak as your goddamn legs were right then. 

“Ok, sweetheart. Hold on, and whatever you do-“ He lowered his mouth almost to yours, lips brushing as he whispered. “Don’t scream.” 

His fingers thrust into you hard and fast, his other hand pressing your hips back into the wall so you stayed still and he did all the work. He pressed his lips to yours to stifle the moan you couldn’t control, a surprisingly gentle kiss considering what else he was doing to you, and you could feel him smiling against your lips as he did. You wanted to be annoyed at the smug asshole, but he kept kissing you, kept that goddamn hand moving, fingers curling to find the right spot and driving you up and over the peak hard and fast. 

The orgasm ripped through you and your knees buckled, but between Shane and the brick against your back you didn’t collapse like you should have. But even as you expected him to stop, to pull his hand from you and step away and give you a wink as you put yourself back together, he growled, bit your lower lip, and kept going. You grabbed onto him, going limp and pliant in his arms as he shifted again, so the heel of his hand worked your clit while his fingers trust into you. He wrapped his other hand around your neck and positively took your mouth with his. 

His name was burning in your throat as you came a second time, longer and hard and even better than the first, and Shane didn’t stop until he’d worked every last bit of pleasure from it. 

Your eyes were huge as you shoved a shaking hand through your hair, watching Shane’s lazy smirk as he slid his hand from your jeans and looked at it. He held your eyes as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, winking at you with such a gleam in his eyes you considered getting offended again. It was fucking hard to be when that self-satisfaction was so well deserved, damn it, you thought, and let out a long breath as you buttoned and zipped your jeans.

“Well,” you mumbled after a minute. “I don’t know about you, but I think I’m ready for Criminal Justice 201 now.” 

Shane laughed, hooking an arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his side. He swiped a quick kiss to your temple as you leaned against him and started strolling toward your building, and you slid your hand into his back pocket. 

“Yeah, bad cop’s fun. I should do it more often.”

You snorted. “I’m the bad cop. You’re the fuckin’ criminal, Walsh.” 

“Eh. Only cause it’s illegal how much I love you,” he shot back, and you couldn’t help the grin.

Atlanta PD, day one:

"We broke up, Shane," you snapped, glaring at him. "Last year. You know, when you chose Rick over me and lied to me about it." 

Shane sighed and shoved a hand through his hair, watching you from your bed as you pulled on your pants. "Sweetheart-" 

"I'm not your sweetheart." 

That just pissed him off, but honestly, you didn't care. You kept your stare cool and started buttoning your uniform shirt. It was what had happened, and you weren't his sweetheart. Not anymore. One night's mistake didn't change that. 

"Come on. We've been friends our whole lives. Why won't you see my side of it, just for one fuckin' minute?" he asked, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You shrugged. "Because we've been friends all our lives. I guess I just thought you and me were more than friends, once upon a time, and we had a plan. Then you lied to me." 

"For the last time, I did not lie to you!" 

You turned away until you were sure you had your face under control, buckling your duty belt very precisely on your hips. "Did you tell me you were applying to King County Sheriff's Department instead of Atlanta PD?" 

Shane didn't respond, so you turned and lifted an eyebrow at him. "No," he said reluctantly. "I didn't." 

"That's correct. Ergo, you lied to me. We had a plan, Shane, and I know you love Rick. I love Rick. And Lori, much as she hates me," you added with a grimace. "And if you'd just talked to me, we might have worked it out. But you went behind my back and you lied to me." 

"I went behind your back. I never lied," he snapped. "Rick's a fucking brother to me, sweetheart. I had to move back. He and Lor, they needed- they were havin' a baby. And then after, when they weren't anymore… you saw him." 

Your face softened into sorrow. "Yeah, I saw him. I held his hand while he cried. I held Lori's hand while she cried." 

Shane rose and stepped over to you. "So you get it. I had to go." 

"Maybe," you agreed slowly. "But that's the problem, Shane. You had to go. But you didn't have to tell me that before you made the decision." 

"Sweetheart-" 

"Look, last night," you interrupted him, changing the subject as you ducked into your bathroom to brush the tangled mess Shane had made of your hair the night before and get it braided up for your first shift. "I was drunk. I was celebrating. When Rick and Lori left, I should have had them bring me home, not you. I knew better. This was a mistake, Shane." 

He'd followed you to the bathroom and leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Goddamn the man, he always was fucking built, you thought, yanking the brush savagely through your hair. And seeing him like this- rumbled and sleep-deprived, jeans unbuttoned on his hips and slung so low he was standing on the hems- was so familiar it left an ache in your heart you'd been working for the past year to banish. 

As when he'd grinned at you from the crowd as you saluted the captain on stage last night, it ripped away every layer of defense you'd been able to build up. 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Shane muttered, shoving his hand through his hair again. "Look, sweetheart. It's your first shift today. It's gonna be crazy, trust me. Just… Just watch your ass. I still love you, even if you don't want anything to do with me." 

"No, you don't," you said harshly, the words pouring salt into the aching, bleeding wound. "You don't love me, still or otherwise." 

"You don't get to tell me how I feel," he fired back calmly. "You can not like it, you can deny you love me too, but you don't get to tell me how I feel. I'll get out of your hair so you can get ready for today." 

He turned to go and you flipped him off behind his back. You checked your hair again and pulled out your makeup bag to hide the circles a night of drinking and mind-blowing sex had left under your eyes as he disappeared into your room. He returned with his t shirt on, dress shirt over his shoulder, and his shoes in his hands. 

"For the record, you're going to be a good cop. Shit, you're gonna be a great cop, sweetheart," he said softly, and headed for your door. 

You flinched when it clicked shut behind him. 

Atlanta PD, day 3,189:

“Some fucking detective I turned out to be,” you muttered, squinting in the sunlight. “You know, you didn’t have to come, but I appreciate it, Rick.” 

Rick snorted. “Of course I came. You got shot and had surgery. You can’t drive. I’m your emergency contact, though I don’t know why.” 

You climbed to your feet painfully, leaning hard on the side of Rick’s truck as you waved off the nurse’s offer of help. “Cause I don’t have any other family, jackass. Not now that Dad’s gone.” 

“Yeah,” Rick said, hovering as you hopped closer to the open door. The nurse kept a steady eye on you as well, and you maneuvered your leg in with difficulty. New knees were like that, and all. “You ok? You good?” 

You shot him a strained smile. “I’m fine, Rick. Stop hovering and drive. I’ve had enough of this place. I need a beer.”

“Bossy,” he said dryly. “No beer, you’re on six kinds of pain meds.” 

“Try and stop me,” you muttered as he made his way to the drivers side.

He shot you a look as he got in like he knew just what you’d said. “So. Straight home or are you getting me in trouble first?” 

You cracked up, holding onto your side as that strained the barely-healed damage from the fist fight before the firefight. “Oh God, Rick. Home, please. I’m barely functioning as is; I’m so not up for our usual brand of trouble.” 

He laughed and waited for you to click the seat belt before pulling out of Grady Memorial. “Can’t believe you’re finally moving back.” 

“Don’t remind me. Captain says I could go back when I’m healed, but…” you trailed off, thinking a little too hard about bleeding in an alley and your own mortality in an undercover investigation gone bad. “I’m done. With undercover at least, and I can’t just be a regular detective in Atlanta PD after what I’ve been doing. I’ll blow all my aliases and put everyone I’ve ever given a shit about in jeopardy. The Vatos would be all over my ass. So, Atlanta’s done.” 

“I’m sorry,” Rick said quietly. “You’re the best there is undercover. The few times I ran into you on the job, I’d never have known who you were.” 

You flashed him a sad smile. “Thanks, Rick. Not good enough apparently.” 

“What’s that bullshit?” 

You snorted. “Do me a favor, man, miss a bump. Might have a new knee but it feels a hell of a lot like someone just ripped out the old one. Oh wait; that’s what they did.” 

Rick shot you that look from the corner of his eye and you sighed. You stared at your city as he hit the highway, already missing it. You lived for the job, damn it, especially since you’d made detective and joined the narcotics division. The Captain had noticed you had a gift for lying your ass off convincingly- thanks Shane and Rick for all the practice getting out of trouble you’d most definitely caused- and stuck you undercover. You’d taken to it like a duck to water, because lying and treading the line of what’s entirely legal in the interest of catching bad guys? Yeah, you were good at that shit.

“I dunno, man. Feeling like a bad cop these days. Good cops don’t get almost dead through sheer stupidity,” you answered Rick.

“I don’t think saving two teenage girls from being sold to a drug cartel and enabling the arrest of three prominent Vatos leaders is ‘sheer stupidity’,” Rick said dryly. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and you saw the smile even as he tried to keep a straight face. “But you always do say you’re the bad cop. Gonna have to fight Shane for that title though. Usually his job in interrogations with me.” 

“That’s only because you’re always gonna be the good cop, Deputy Grimes. You running for sheriff yet? Follow in your dad’s footsteps?” You teased, turning the subject away from Shane. You’d see him soon enough, you were sure, since you were staying with Rick and Lori and Carl until you could get around better on your own. 

Soon enough would be too damn soon, just like it was every time you saw him. This time, you weren’t going to sleep with him. 

To be fair, you weren’t going to be sleeping with anyone for awhile, until you healed up. But the point remained. It wouldn’t be like the other times over the past decade, where you ran into each other and ended up in bed together. It couldn’t. You’d told him when you made detective and went undercover that you were done, and you’d been able to stick to it. 

Of course, you’d only seen him twice in the four years since then, but still. It counted. You were really, finally over him. 

Rick’s sigh was audible. “You really hate King County that much, or is it just me?” 

“What?” Your head whipped around so fast it made your whole body hurt and you stared at your friend. He was looking firmly out the front window, though the traffic on the highway certainly didn’t call for that close of attention anymore, as far out of the city as you’d come. “What the hell are you talking about? I don’t hate you. You’re my best friend.” 

“Really? Cause we barely see you. You show up, what, twice a year? Carl’s birthday and Christmas, when you can make it. I figure there’s only three reasons you stay away- you hate King County, you hate Shane, or you hate me. And since- since Shane came to King County because I asked him to, I figure even if you hate Shane, you really hate me.” 

“Jesus,” you mumbled, pressing a hand to your eyes. “I don’t hate anyone. I’m just a cop, Rick. Like you. Only I’m married to the job, undercover, and have a backlog of still open cases cluttering what used to be my desk. I just can’t get away, man.” 

“Ok,” Rick said in that tone that meant you were about to get some patented Grimes Logic, the patiently stubborn kind that caught bad guys.

And when accompanied by the narrowed eyes and tilt of his head he was currently doing, had ferreted out many a secret from you and one Shane Walsh, since even back when you were kids. Damn it. 

“I could buy that. Atlanta’s a big city; lots of crime. But you don’t take any of Shane’s calls. You ask about him just enough to make it seem like you don’t want him dead. And I know for a fact you two end up sleeping together almost every time you see each other,” he finished, and you started coughing on thin air. 

“How the hell? Did he-? I’m gonna kill him with my bare hands. Don’t think I can’t,” you growled when you could breathe again. 

Rick laughed. “You could, but there’s no point. He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Then how the hell do you know that?” You demanded.

Rick sighed. “Because he still loves you, and after he sees you he goes through six women in a month, loses money on something stupid, and then gets blind drunk on my couch. And you avoid my phone calls for a week, then deliberately ask about him to prove you can, and send down some elaborate gift for Carl like you’re trying to apologize. I know you both too damn well.”

Shit. He really did. He had you pegged spot on, though he’d missed the part where you called a buddy from homicide up the night after you saw Shane, got blind drunk yourself, and compounded one mistake with another that at least didn’t hurt so much. Your friend didn’t care and you didn’t either, and you got to pretend you’d erased Shane’s touch from your skin. 

“I’m over him,” you told Rick firmly. “We haven’t hooked up in a couple years. We’re done.” 

“Sure, since you joined Narc. See, problem is, you can’t pretend to be someone else anymore.” 

“Ouch,” you told Rick, blinking in surprise. 

He shrugged. “Truth hurts, girl. I’m the voice of reason, remember?” 

“Voice of mean, more like,” you muttered. “Speaking of, how pissed is Lori that I’m staying with you guys?” 

“Hey,” Rick said mildly. “She’s not pissed. She’s worried about you.” 

“I’m sure she is. Worried how bad an influence I’m gonna be on you and the tyke.” 

“Carl’s excited,” Rick said. You could tell by the tone of his voice he was taking pity on you and letting the subject change. 

“He should be. I’m awesome,” you told Rick cheerfully, and closed your eyes. “Hey, Rick?” 

“Hmmm?”

“Never answered my question about running for sheriff. Ever think about it? You’d be a shoo-in, with your dad.” You cracked an eye to see his face.

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t want it. I’ve got enough responsibility. It’s an election year though. You should go for it.” 

“Ha!” You closed your eyes again. “Isn’t that hilarious. Don’t you know I’m the bad cop? Sheriff is for goody two-shoes cops, like you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You know we swore to uphold the law, right?” 

“Serve and protect, first and foremost. Sometimes that means the rules need to be bent,” you fired back.

“Bent, maybe. Not broken.” 

“Please. You’ve broken plenty of laws,” you muttered, settling into the familiar argument and finding yourself smiling. You’d missed this. 

It felt like home.

King County, day one: 

“You know, I wasn’t sure I’d still have a job today,” Shane said dryly.

You scoffed, not bothering to look up from the computer at your new desk. “Don’t be an idiot, Deputy Walsh. You’re a damn good cop. King County’s lucky to have you.” 

“Pretty lucky to have you too, Sheriff.” 

You flashed him an absent smile. “Thanks. We’ll see how you feel about that after working for me a few weeks. Gonna tighten things up around here.” 

Shane shook his head and reached into his pocket. “Sweetheart, could you pay attention to me for two minutes? Please?” 

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweetheart, for one, and for two, I’m your boss,” you said irritably, but you turned from the computer and focused on the deputy in your office. 

He had that same goddamn asshole smirk on his lips, cocky and self assured, and your heart skipped a beat at the sight like it did every time. Shane Walsh in uniform, you thought with a sigh. Now there was a sight. Damn him. 

“Hey,” he said softly, tipping you a wink. “There you are. Congratulations, Sheriff.” 

You smiled at him, softening completely with the simple sincerity in his tone. “Thank you.”

“I, ah. I have something for you,” he said, looking almost shy. 

Your eyebrows rose and your shoulders tensed, and you started to refuse. He shook his head and stepped closer, stopping you before you could speak. 

“Don’t. I know, propriety and shit. But hell, sugar, we’re friends, and this? This is big. It’s a big day for you.” He shoved a hand through his hair and looked away, then back at you with a soft smile. “It’s a friend gift. Celebrate the milestone.” 

You sighed and leaned back in your chair. How could you turn that down? Especially with that look in his eyes. He fucking meant it- no games, just friendship. 

And the thing was, you’d been getting back to that. Coming home had been harder than you’d anticipated. Getting beaten to hell and shot and left for dead, whether it led to arrests or not, wasn’t easy. You’d been more messed up than you’d wanted to admit, and you’d needed home and your best friends more than you’d ever imagined. 

Rick and Lori had let you stay with them for six months. Well, Rick had insisted. Lori had tolerated it. You’d handed Rick your gun the first night you were there, when you woke from a dream about that dirty alley and gone for your weapon before realizing it wasn’t on your hip and you weren’t back there. 

A year later, you still didn’t know why he’d let you stay in the house with his son, other than the sort of blind loyalty Rick Grimes had always had for you and Shane. 

It was Shane who’d been there the first time you had a flashback while awake and damn near landed right back in the hospital when you lashed out. You hadn’t known he was in the house, and he’d come around the corner to your room and you’d swung at him. 

You’d also promptly toppled over, passed out from the pain, and had a total breakdown when you came to. Shane had talked you through it and convinced you to get a referral from the department shrink for someone closer to home. He’d driven you to your first appointment- and your second, your third, your fourth, until your knee had healed enough that you could drive yourself and you’d realized therapy helped enough that you kept going on your own.

Somehow, in a matter of weeks, King County had become home again. You’d thrown yourself into the election just for something to do- a goal, a target, the next step in the career currently in tatters. Maybe, as your shrink had hinted broadly, in an effort to control something in your universe. Weirdly, people seemed to like you around here. Especially when they learned you’d been injured in the line of duty, and you wanted to come back home and drive the Vatos and other slowly-encroaching gangs back out of your territory.

An endorsement from the former Sheriff Grimes had sealed the deal, and proven you’d been even better at lying your way out of trouble than you’d thought, since if he knew half the shit you’d gotten Rick into as kids Sheriff Grimes would have laughed you off his front porch, not given you a hug and a glass of lemonade.

“Fine,” you told Shane now. “What is it? Don’t you have work to do?” 

“Bitch,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“Sheriff Bitch, thank you,” you shot back pleasantly. “What’s my present?” 

He snorted and stepped in closer, pulling something from his pocket. He held it, looking down at it before holding it out to you dangling from his fingers. 

It was a necklace, a simple silver chain with a long, thin bar pendant. You turned it curiously and smiled, running your fingers over the engraving. “My Atlanta badge number.” 

“Yeah. I know you always tease me for this, but- it helps.” Shane said with an embarrassed shrug, tapping the chain of the 22 necklace he still wore under his uniform. “And you cared about being Atlanta PD a hell of a lot more than I cared about football.” 

You chuckled. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s true. You cared about football a lot. It’s beautiful, Shane. Thank you.” 

He nodded, watching you with a small smile as you fastened the chain around your neck and tucked it under your shirt. “It looks good on you, sweetheart. And I don’t mean the necklace.” 

You shrugged, looking around the office. “It’s different. It doesn’t feel real yet. Hell, I keep thinking when my phone rings it’s gonna be for one of my aliases, not me. I like it. I missed me. I missed home.” 

“You miss me any?” He said softly. 

“Don’t, Shane,” you warned. “Just don’t. Come on, we have work to do.” 

He sighed, shoved his hand through his hair again, and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You turned back to the computer and he headed out onto the floor. You caught Rick watching you from the coffee pot and scowled.

King County, day 365: 

“One year anniversary, Sheriff,” Leon said brightly. “Congratulations.” 

He was so painfully young, you thought as he stabbed enthusiastically at the cake the wife of one of your deputies had made. So green it made your eyes hurt. “Thanks, Leon. How’s your mama doing? She better yet?” 

“Still sick, but she’s on the mend. Doc says it’s pneumonia,” he answered. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.” 

“Please do, and tell her I wish her a speedy recovery.” You made a mental note to have Donna, the receptionist and sometimes your personal assistant, pick out a flower arrangement and send it to Mrs. Basset from the department.

You stopped to smile, chat, and accept more congratulations from your deputies as you made your way to your office. There were somewhere around ten million things on your plate for today, but these were your men and women and they’d done this for you of their own accord. 

It baffled you not only that your hometown had elected you to this position, but that they and the people you led seemed to like having you in it. You’d never have guessed that you, Rick, and Shane- the troublemaking rebel, the Sheriff’s son, and the quarterback- would end up here. Any the rebel most certainly should not have been running the place. 

Donna stepped to your side and you asked her about an arrangement for Mrs. Basset, told her you were going to need a two hour block with no calls and no visitors, and asked her to take cake to dispatch and then any left over should go across the street to the fire station. Donna nodded seriously before her straight face broke with a grin. 

“Ma’am, you won’t get two hours today. Half the town will be stopping in to say congrats,” she said with a shrug. 

You groaned as you settled into you chair in your office. “I’m not getting anything done today am I?”

“Oh, probably not,” Shane said dryly, coming in behind Donna. She smirked at you and let herself out, and you rolled your eyes at her retreating back before smiling at Shane. 

“Hey. You and Rick had the night shift; what the hell are you doing here?” You asked as he settled one hip on your desk. 

He shrugged. “Couldn’t leave without saying hey. Been a year.” 

“That it has,” you agreed.

He’d showered in the locker room and changed out of his uniform. His hair was still wet from it and you eyed his clothes suspiciously. He had a nice button up on over dressy jeans, top two buttons undone but the sleeves rolled precisely. 

“You’ve got a date,” you informed him. “Don’t you? You should be going home and getting some sleep, damn it.” 

“I have a date,” he said, grinning as he leaned toward you and ran a hand through his hair. “I am going home, and I will sleep… eventually.” 

His wink made you roll your eyes and gag a little. “I don’t wanna know, do I?”

“Aw, probably not. Gonna play some good cop/bad cop, you know,” he said with a grin. “She likes my handcuffs.” 

You ignored the flash of pain that speared through you, reminding yourself the two of you were done. “Deputy, that is not proper use of department equipment.” 

Shane leaned over your chair to kiss your cheek as he rose. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m the bad cop, then. Congrats, sweetheart. You’re a damn good sheriff. I need some days off next month.” 

“Oh that’s why you’re here,” you said with a scowl. “File them properly, asshole.” 

“I will, I will,” he laughed, straightening up. 

You frowned, eyes drawn to the necklace that had slid from his shirt when he bent over. The usual 22 you’d seen for years had been joined by… what the hell? “Hey, Walsh. That a bullet?” 

He paused, hand coming up and tucking the necklace out of sight again with a slightly guilty look. “Yeah. It’s a bullet.” 

“Why are you wearing a spent 9 mm around your neck?” you asked, eyebrow lifting. 

You stared at him and his eyes flicked to yours and then away again, the tension in his shoulders making your own start to ache.

“It’s the one they dug out of your knee, sweetheart,” he said finally, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. 

You blinked, licked suddenly dry lips, and stood slowly. Your knee throbbed with remembered pain, and you forced back the flicker of blind fear and the crack of gunfire. “What- why? How the fuck do you even have that?”

“I’ve got friends in Atlanta PD,” he said shortly. “Look, it’s no big deal.” 

“Ok,” you said flatly. “Sure, you’ve got friends in the PD. Why are you wearing the bullet that shattered my knee and almost killed me next to your jersey number?” 

Shane’s jaw worked as he turned and closed your office door firmly. He kept his back to you and you knew by the way he was standing that he was trying to light the door on fire with the strength of his glare. “I was there, you know.” 

“What? Where? You were where?” For one disorienting minute, you thought he meant in that alleyway, with the Vatos and the bullets and the blood, and your hand clenched into a fist at your side.

“In the hospital. Rick- Rick called me right before my buddy on homicide did. Your captain had called him, knew he was your emergency contact. Rick called me. I was- hell, I was halfway there. Had a date. Went straight to the hospital instead.” 

You leaned your hands against the desk and thought about waking up slowly and in pain, to an empty room and beeping machinery. “You weren’t there.” 

“I was. The whole time you were in surgery. Didn’t leave till they told Rick you’d woken up,” he said softly, turning to face you again and leaning against your closed door. “Sweetheart, I almost lost you. And regardless of- of all the bullshit and the fact that we are what we are, whatever the hell it is, you’ve been my best friend since- shit, since we were in what, third grade? Fourth? And I almost lost you.” 

Your throat was dry and your eyes burned, hearing the fear in his voice. He’d come. Rick had never said a word and neither had Shane himself, but Shane had been there. You didn’t realize until that moment how much thinking he hadn’t cared enough to come had hurt. 

“I keep it close. Cause it almost killed you,” he said, sniffing as he shoved off the door. “I’ve got a date waiting, and you have work to do. See you tonight, Sheriff.” 

Just like that, he was gone.

King County, day 547:

Hot Georgia summer sun beat down on you relentlessly, until the sheer pantyhose you’d put on for the county commissioner’s meeting were practically melting into your legs. 

Then again, that might have been because of the man you had them wrapped around at the moment. 

You gasped when he boosted you up and plopped you on the hood of his cruiser, pressing closer to you as you locked your legs around his hips. Shane yanked the silky blouse from the waistband of the skirt now bunched up high on your thighs, his mouth as urgent as his hands and just as fucking devastating. You threaded your fingers into his hair and bit at his lip, and he broke the hot, needy kiss when his hands found lace under your shirt instead of skin. 

He traced it with his fingertips first, eyes closed and breathing going ragged, before he snarled and tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it further back on the hood of the cruiser. You gave a breathless, delighted laugh at the look on his face, the laugh turning to a moan when he skimmed his fingers over your breast, tracing the upper edge of the lacy bodysuit you’d been wearing just in case of an opportunity like this. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, and bent to run his tongue where his fingers had just been. 

You shivered and arched into him, desperate for more of his hands and mouth on you. He ran one hand up your side, over the lace, his fingertips light on your rib cage and rubbing just his thumb over your nipple. He laughed at the way your breath caught, his tongue tracing lace and skin as he explored the other breast with his mouth. 

You had your hand flat on the back of his neck, fingers tugging into his skin as you tried to pull him closer to you, and you grabbed a handful of his uniform at the shoulder. Your legs hooked tight around his hips as you sought contact and friction, your body already desperate with a heat stronger than anything Georgia could produce. He was hard and ready and you could feel it, but he kept shifting so he only brushed against you, driving you slowly insane as he teased you with a flick of his tongue or a rub of his thumb over your nipples. 

You let out an impatient whine when he ran his tongue down the side of your breast, your hand sliding into his hair tugging. His mouth closed over you fierce and hot and sudden, and you cried out his name as he gave you all the contact you’d been searching for. He sucked at your breast, biting down just enough to make you lose your mind, and closed his hand over the other side in a light squeeze, rolling your nipple against his palm. 

As if that wasn’t enough to send you into space with his name falling from your lips, he trust his hips forward into yours, finally giving you that hard length against your aching core. You braced yourself against the hood with one hand as you rubbed against him, your body desperate for release and not willing to wait much longer. 

He growled against your breast when you shivered in his arms and whispered his name, heading toward orgasm and not above begging for it at this point. “Shane, yes, God,” you mumbled, head tipped back and eyes closed.

Next thing you knew he shoved away, and the loss of him hard and hot and needy against you left you confused and shocked, eyes popping open into sunshine that practically blinded you.

You blinked a few times and focused on him, ready to bitch about him leaving you right on the fucking edge like that, but he had opened the driver’s door of his cruiser and was taking off his duty belt and his radio. 

“Get in the backseat,” he snapped. ”I’m not fucking you on the hood of my car for anyone to drive by and see.” 

You snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve grown up since high school. Get in the damn backseat, sweetheart, so I can fuck you properly.” 

Oh, yeah, that did it. You slid from the hood on already shaky legs, and bit back an amused snort when he held the door open and watched you duck into the backseat like you were the perp and he was your arresting officer. He slammed the door and stalked around to the other side, leaving that one open to the trees lining the road when he climbed in after you. 

Wouldn’t do to have the sheriff and one of her deputies get locked in the backseat… while missing clothes and gear, you thought with a grin. 

Then Shane pulled you into his lap, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip the top of the hose. He yanked hard, shredding the fragile fabric, and you rocked your hips urgently as he found your mouth with his again. 

He let you grind against him, the orgasm he’d denied you building right back up with record speed, and when it ripped through you he flipped you both so you lay pressed into the seat, his body a familiar weight against yours. 

He flashed you a grin and pulled what was left of your ruined hose off, chucking them into the floorboard. He slid his hand back up your thigh and under your skirt, hooking a finger just inside your underwear. “These match that lacy shit?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Duh. Rip them and die, Walsh.” 

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he mumbled, and dipped his head to trace your nipple lazily with his tongue. 

Your breath caught and you arched up, and Shane slid the underwear down your hips in a practiced move. Before he could get his hands on you again, you reached for him. 

“No fair you having all the fun.” You had his uniform pants unbuttoned and unzipped, and you wrapped a hand around the base of his dick as you freed him from the uniform and the boxer briefs under it. You pumped him a couple times just to hear the way the he let out a hard breath he tried to hide, biting your lip to cover a smirk of your own. Shane shivered, bracing himself with a knee on the seat and a hand on the window over your head, his other hand tracing your body while he watched you with heat-filled eyes. 

You trailed your fingers over him like he had done to you, a barely-there touch that had him thrusting toward your hand in need and you grinning at his reaction. 

“Oh, that’s how you’re gonna be, huh? Fuck that, sugar,” he declared, and hooked your leg up over his shoulder in a blur. 

He pushed against you and you gasped, anticipation bringing you right to that wild, needy edge again. He groaned as he slid into you, your name sounding like it was pulled from him against his will, and you could tell by the way his body trembled he was holding back from just fucking you like an animal.

One careful thrust in, and you snapped his name. His eyes popped open and met yours, and that dark, possessive heat filled them. 

You bucked under him, telling him to fuck you already without having to say a word, and he snarled, shifted, and let go. He buried himself inside you in a single hard thrust that had you crying out in delight before driving into, fast and shallow, over and over and over. Every jerk of his hips had him rubbing your clit while he fucked into you, and you didn’t understand how he managed to know what you needed every time, but he did. Oh, God, he fucking did. 

You mumbled what was probably just a series of profanity and pleas for more as he tangled a hand in your hair, buried his face in your neck, and fucked you hard and fast and furious. 

You were a whimpering, moaning mess in an instant, pushed up and over the edge twice more before he joined you, rhythm faltering for a couple of thrusts before he came with a sharp cry. His lips brushed your neck as he whispered your name, and you blinked up at the roof of his car and tried to remember how gravity worked.

He stayed on top of you as you both fought for air, your racing pulse slowing until you realized you were playing with his hair and drifting. Your forced your hand to still, dropping it from his hair to rest on his shoulder. Like he’d been waiting for your signal, he pressed kiss to your neck as he eased out of you and shifted to lean against the seat. 

He glanced your way, flashing you that smug grin that had you rolling your eyes. “Shit, sweetheart. Sex on duty definitely makes me the bad cop.” 

You laughed and tugged your skirt back down, eyeing your underwear and debating the pros of not going commando verses the cons of putting those back on after all that. “I’m your boss, Walsh. This is just you following orders like a good cop.” 

“Damn,” he said, laughing as he climbed out of the backseat and adjusted his uniform. “You’re probably right.” 

He held a hand out to pull you from the car, and kept it loosely in his. You’d decided commando was fine after all, since you could head straight home for a shower and a change of clothes before your next meeting. You shoved at your hair as the two of you rounded the car, and you pulled your hand from Shane’s to scoop up your shirt. 

He was watching you while he fastened his duty belt back on and hooked his radio in place at his shoulder. “Better do something about that hair before you head back to the station,” he advised with a wink.

“I’m going home for a shower,” you countered. “And clean underwear.” 

He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Not if you wanna be on time you’re not. Got half an hour, sweetheart. Barely gonna make it as is.” 

“Son of a bitch.” You tried to settle you hair back into the smooth chignon you’d had it in, wondering already if you were fighting a losing battle. 

Shane grinned and stepped close, taking your hands and pulling them down. “That’s pointless, sugar. Just- here, take it out completely and start over. Do one of them messy buns or whatever.” 

“That’s hardly professional,” you complained. 

He snorted and turned you around impatiently, pulling the pins and ponytail holder from your hair himself. “So’s fuckin’ one of your deputies on duty, boss.” 

You tried to slap at him but he dodged it easily, his hands gentle as he combed the tangles from your hair and worked it into a braid. You closed your eyes and enjoyed his touch a little too much, and when he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck and started to wrap his arms around you from behind, you stepped away. 

“Shane,” you said, tone a warning. 

“Yeah, I know,” he replied casually as he hooked his thumbs in his duty belt and shrugged. “Just sex. Friends with benefits, right?”

“Right,” you agreed. “I’ve gotta run.” 

“Go on, bad cop, get outta here,” he said with a small smile, jerking his head in the direction of your car. “I’ll see you at Rick’s tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. Twenty kids and a stressed out Lori.” You grimaced. “Sounds like a great time.” 

Shane’s laugh was more real than the smile had been, and you grinned back at him in a moment of pure friendship and solidarity. He shoved a hand through his hair and stepped into the open door of his car. 

“Well, the kid’ll be happy to see us, and so will Rick. Maybe we’ll sneak out to the ravine after, get shitfaced and find some trouble, like old times. I, ah- I got an in with the sheriff, you know.” 

You cracked up and he winked at you before waving you into your car. You were still smiling when you got back to the station. Halfway to your office, it hit you.

“Son of a bitch!” 

You’d left your underwear and your ripped hose in the back of his cruiser.

King County, day 707: 

You sat in the car outside Shane’s house, hands gripping the wheel to keep them from shaking. 

Three days later and you still couldn’t breathe when you thought about it. It was stupid. Just worry and a hefty dose of PTSD. Hell, nothing had even happened, you told yourself sternly. 

But it could have. 

Which was why you were here. You shoved out of the car before you lost your nerve completely, striding toward his door and mentally rehearsing what you needed to say and how to do it quickly. On the porch, you paused to take a deep breath and brace yourself before you knocked. 

You didn’t hear him approach, but that wasn’t a surprise. He leaned in the doorway, that damn cocky smirk on his lips and his arms crossed, muscle tank proving he was still fucking built. As if you needed the reminder. 

It also showed the edge of lurid bruising spreading from the center of his chest, and you clenched your hand into a fist when fear made it tremble again. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What are you doin’ here?” Shane asked, holding the door open wide and sounding too damn pleased to see you. “Come on in.” 

You tucked your thumbs into your back pockets and you stepped into his front room. Shane closed the door and leaned into you, brushing a kiss to your cheek and setting his hand against your back. 

“Want a drink?”

God, yes. You wanted to get drunk as hell with him, stumble your way to his couch or his bed, and fall together in some crazy, life-affirming sex that let you make sure he really was ok. 

You swallowed hard and shook your head. You had to do this and make it fast, or you wouldn’t do it at all. “Shane.” 

He paused, catching your tone, and met your eyes. “Yeah?” 

“Shane, you took a bullet to the chest.” 

“I took a bullet to the vest,” he corrected, a small smile playing over his lips. He reached for you and you stepped back, and the smile slid away. “What’s goin’ on, sugar?” 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. 

“Can’t do what?” 

“Shane, I’m- I’m your boss. We can’t be- I can’t be- I have to make calls for the whole department, for the people, for King County. Not for you, and certainly not for me.” You started to pace and he watched you, crossing his arms again and waiting with a raised eyebrow until you fell silent. 

“Ok. I know that,” he said slowly. “What’s it got to do with me takin’ a round? It happens. That’s why we wear gear. It certainly wasn’t your fault.” 

“You got shot and I almost ordered a hostage killed to get to you.”

Shane scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“Don’t. Don’t doubt it.” You stopped walking and turned to face him, holding his eyes and trying to let him see how serious you were. “We have to stop, Shane. We have to be done.” 

He didn’t speak, just studied you. You shook your head and looked away, voice dropping as you fought back tears. 

“Damn it, Walsh. I can’t keep doing this. It makes me a bad cop and a worse boss, and I don’t mean it in the good cop/bad cop way. I mean it makes me shit at my job. I hear ‘officer down’ and ‘shots fired’ on the radio, I have to be thinking of all of my officers and getting them home to their families. Not just an endless loop of ‘please don’t let it be Shane’. Us having a personal relationship endangers everyone and you know it.” 

“Thought we were just friends with benefits. Don’t have a personal relationship,” he said, and damn if the bastard didn’t sound amused. Like he thought this was a fucking game, or you were being dramatic. 

Words boiled out and you didn’t even try stop them, too damn sick to your stomach with what had happened and what might have happened and the way you were ready to give the order to shoot through the damn hostage to take the guy out just so you could make sure Shane was alive in there. All you’d been able to think about was him bleeding out in a dirty alley, never mind that he was in the fucking Stop’n’Shop and you knew better. 

This wasn’t a game anymore; this wasn’t a quickie in your office or the back of his car, petty rebellions that made it more fun because it brought back that giddy, indestructible high school feeling. This was real life- his, yours, and everyone else’s- at stake and damn if you were going to let him make light of how serious this was. 

“Fuck you. You know. You know I still fucking love you, you asshole.” You hissed it out, vicious and biting, and wished to God it wasn’t true. Wished to God and Satan and everyone else you could think of that he was just another deputy or just a fling or whatever, so you weren’t faced with pain no matter what way you turned- stay like this and risk it all, or break it off and spend the rest of your life chasing something a tenth as real as what you felt for him right now. 

Serve and protect meant risking it all wasn’t possible. Serve and protect meant others’ lives came first- before yours, before Shane’s, before Rick’s. No matter what. 

Shane blinked and reached for you again, but you jerked back out of reach. “No. Don’t speak; don’t try to touch me. It doesn’t change anything. We’re done, ok? We’re friends. I’m your boss and you’re my deputy. That’s it. For everyone’s safety, that’s what it has to be. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” 

You stormed through the door and back to your car, trying to pretend you were angry and not heartbroken.

King County, day 708 (now): 

You called out the next morning, claiming sickness. It was easy enough, what with being the boss and all. And you had been puking earlier, so it wasn’t like it wasn’t true. 

You just neglected to mention it was due to an epic hangover. 

By mid afternoon you were curled on the couch, no longer feeling like death but still dying a little inside anyway. You’d known better than to start things up with Shane again. You’d sworn you wouldn’t when you moved back, and for two years you’d kept that promise. 

Then he’d met you at a bar one night, just a random thing, and one beer led to shots and led to the scent of him on your sheets the next night, achingly familiar and keeping you up with restless want. Next thing you knew, you’d been friends with benefits for a year and change and you’d fallen just as far back in love with him as you’d been when you were kids. 

It wasn’t fair; it wasn’t safe; and you knew better. You had only yourself to blame, damn it. 

Your back door opened and you went for your gun cabinet out of habit. 

“Don’t draw; it’s me,” Rick’s voice called. 

You groaned and plopped back onto your couch. “Why the hell you just letting yourself in? That’s breaking and entering.” 

“Not if I have a key,” he shot back. He rounded the corner into your living room, shook his head, and gave you that look. “That’s what I thought. Get in the shower. Now.” 

“Excuse you, I’m the boss,” you informed him. “I’m sick. Why I’m not at work today.”

“You were hungover this morning. That’s why you’re not at work. Shower. Now. Just trust me, or I’ll tell Lor you’re sick and she’ll make you chicken noodle soup.” 

You grimaced. “God. That’s just mean. Your wife can’t cook for shit.” 

“I know. She’s hot though,” he said with a wink, and you cracked up. “Shower! Now!” 

“Fine! Fucking hell, a girl can’t have a hangover in peace in this town,” you grumbled, already on your way to the bathroom. 

He banged on the bathroom door a few minutes later. “Wear something decent; put your makeup on. Hurry up!” 

“So fucking bossy!” You yelled back, but he had you intrigued now, much as you hated to admit it. “Where the fuck are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” Rick said with a smile and a nod of approval when you emerged. “Let’s go; we’re late.” 

He was quiet in the car and so were you, not asking any more questions. You knew futility when it looked at you with Rick’s slightly amused blue eyes. Familiar roads flowed past and your eyes narrowed. You knew this route. 

“Why the hell are we- what the fuck?” You muttered. 

You’d reached the ravine, and Shane leaned on the hood of his Jeep, a battered cooler at his feet and a beer already in his hand. “Rick,” you hissed, shooting him a glare. 

Rick leaned forward and kissed your cheek. “Trust me. Please? Come on.” 

He got out and came around to your door when you didn’t open it. He held out a hand to you and waited, and you found yourself powerless against the stubborn look in his eyes. You took his hand and let him pull you from the car and amble toward Shane. 

“You’re late,” Shane said over his shoulder. He flipped the lid of the cooler with his foot and Rick bent and grabbed two cans from it. He handed one to you and cracked the top on the other himself, and you followed suit for lack of anything else to do with your hands. 

“She argued,” was all Rick said, and he leaned against the hood beside Shane, leaving a gap between them. “Come on, don’t be a stubborn bitch.” 

You took a long drink and stepped into your familiar spot between them, staring out at the ravine. “Ok. I’m here. What am I late for?” You asked flatly. 

Shane snorted and drank, then set his can down on the hood. “She’s in a mood,” he commented to Rick, and your teeth ground together while he ignored you completely. 

“Hungover. Or was, anyway. Brother, she’s gonna throw you in any minute now,” Rick said dryly. 

“He’s right, Walsh. What’s going on?” you snapped. 

Shane stepped in front of you, eyes serious, and you glared harder. “See, sweetheart, the thing is- the thing is, I agree with you on some of what you said yesterday,” he declared, which did not answer your fucking question at all. “The problem is, I think you came to the wrong conclusion.” 

“Rick, take me home,” you said flatly, setting your beer down and straightening up. 

“Nope.” 

You whipped your head to glare at Rick, but he was just watching the sun creep toward the edge of the ravine, looking relaxed and at ease like when you’d been kids. But you weren’t kids anymore, Goddamn it, and you didn’t want to hear Shane argue that you should keep fucking, for whatever bullshit excuse he could come up with. 

It hurt too much, both the listening and the fucking. He mattered too much, and you just needed to end it once and for all. For good. 

You were starting to think that would mean leaving King County again, and you were surprised to find the idea broke your heart. 

“Damn it, sugar. Just shut up and listen, would you?” Shane’s voice was so damn amused as he reached for your hands. You jerked back with a glare and he shoved a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Alright, fair enough. Look, I- I didn’t tell you about applying to King County in college because- well, because I had this plan, see.”

“Why are you bringing college up, Shane, for shit’s-“ 

“I said, shut up,” he interrupted you. Your eyebrows shot up and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart. Listen. I had a plan. I was gonna bring you out here while we were on break. Talk to you about Rick and Lori, what was going on with them. I was gonna- gonna tell you I applied, hopefully that I got in, and that I had a crazy idea. Those are your favorite kind, always have been, so I figured that would get your attention, right?” 

He shifted and slid a hand into his pocket. He pulled it back out, his fist clenched around something, and you stared at him in confusion. 

He huffed out a breath, staring beyond you at something he couldn’t see. “I never was good at making plans unless it was your idea first. After I told you I had a crazy idea, I was gonna- gonna do this.” 

Shane dropped to one knee in front of you and you blinked, mouth dropping open as he held up a hand. The ring caught the fading sunlight and flashed, and you shook your head, trying to process what he was saying. 

“Shane, what?” You managed, and he grinned.

“I bought this junior year. Rick beat me to the punch with Lor, so I was holding on, waitin’ for my moment. My moment never- never came, I guess. You were so pissed, and it took me a long time, but I get it, sugar. I get how it looked back then, but I swear to you on everything either of us ever loved, I didn’t- I didn’t chose Rick over you. I just fucked up a little, that’s all.” 

Rick shifted against the car and touched your shoulder. “He didn't tell me. Not until you moved back here. Or I’d have drug you together kicking and screaming and made you talk to each other, damn it.” 

You laughed and the next thing you knew you were swiping tears from your eyes. “Shane, what do- why are you telling me all this now? Why are you kneeling still? Get up and just talk to me.” 

“God, you’re difficult,” he muttered. “I’m kneeling cause that’s what a man’s supposed to do when he asks the woman he loves to marry him. Sweetheart, I’ve been in love with you my whole life. I’ve held onto this thing knowing I’d be asking one day. Took a little longer than I thought cause you’re a stubborn bitch, but yesterday, you said you still loved me too.” 

He reached for your hand and this time you let him take it. “What do you say, sugar? Wanna play good cop/bad cop with me? For the rest of our lives.”

“One condition,” you said, pulling him to his feet and sniffing back tears. 

His fingers threaded into your hair as he gave you an amused look. “What’s that, then?” 

“I get to be bad cop.”

Shane and Rick both laughed, and you shot him a smile. Rick had tears in his eyes as he watched you and you were beaming and crying too as you turned back to Shane. 

“So what does that make me?” he asked, hand sliding to your cheek. 

You took the ring from him and studied the single, sparkling stone. He watched as you slid it on your finger, and you saw him swallow hard and give a tiny sigh of relief. You couldn’t stop smiling as you boosted yourself into his arms, tipping your forehead to his and wrapping your arms around his neck. “The suspect.” 

“Why am I always the suspect?” He complained. “Or the criminal, or whatever?” 

“Cause you stole my heart a long time ago, asshole,” you informed him, and pressed your lips to his. 

“Huh. Guess I can live with that.”


End file.
